We've Become Echoes
by bravevulnerability
Summary: 'He doesn't know Emily Byrne, but something about her has him wanting to throw all his years of special training to the wind and run straight into danger with her.' Inspired by 1x04, 'Me, You, Him, Me', and gives what is probably a very AU idea of how Emily and Nick got to where they are now.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hopefully this ridiculous and incredibly far off idea of how Emily and Nick's life together began and eventually ended isn't too dreadful to read. I'm not yet sure how long this one will be, but I hope those of you who are enjoying 'Absentia' so far may find some enjoyment in this unplanned little story.**

* * *

 _"_ _S_ _tood at the coal face, stood with our backs to the sun_  
 _I can remember being nothing but fearless and young_  
 _We've become echoes, but echoes that fade away_  
 _We fall into the dark as we dive under the way"_

-Silhouette, Aquilo

* * *

The first time he sees her is during an FBI training course. She's slim with dark hair, harsh bone structure and eyes on fire as she climbs over a ten foot wall with a fifty pound weight strapped to her back. It's freezing outside, the crisp air of a DC winter in single digits with flakes of snow threatening to fall at any moment, but she has beads of sweat dripping down her face.

"See something you like, Durand?" Nick straightens automatically, but it's not their commanding officer coming to reprimand him for slacking off. He's supposed to be hustling through the same course as the dark haired woman he's watching, but he has yet to start.

It's just his roommate, Matthews, eyeing him with a smirk.

"Who is she?" Nick asks.

He chuckles, crosses his arms, and follows Nick's gaze back to her. "Emily Byrne. I wouldn't pursue that one, though, buddy."

She dismounts from the wall, drops the weight from her shoulders, and jogs onto the next obstacle without pause, as if she hasn't even broken a sweat.

Nick tears his eyes from the sight of her. "Why?"

"Isn't worth it. Daddy's a decorated police officer, she's made a name in law enforcement already herself, and all the higher ups are already keeping an eye on her," Matthew explains. "You'd be under that same microscope if you hitch your wagon to hers. Not to mention, the chick probably comes with a ton of baggage."

Nick arches an eyebrow. "Why do you say that?"

Matthews shrugs. "I knew her brother. Just keep your eye on the prize, man." He claps Nick on the shoulder. "The _right_ prize."

Nick rolls his eyes as Matthews trots on ahead of him, but returns his gaze to the woman, Emily, nonetheless. She's approaching the final stretch of the course now, the six minute mile that each recruit starts and ends every day of this week's morning training session with.

He wants to do more than watch before she leaves.

Nick jogs over to the circular track just in time to check in and join her by the first of four long laps.

He gains the fleeting flicker of her gaze once he meets her pace, the subtle quirk of her lip. She speeds up, spares another glance his way, challenging him.

Typically, Nick favors the quiet girls with sweet smiles and soft eyes. He learned not to pursue the dangerous types, to risk his heart after he witnessed his father's so violently broken when Nick was still a boy. He never wanted to hurt like that, the way his dad always did, still does, so he learned to guard his heart at an early age, to protect it with the same skill he's able to possess in the field.

And yet...

He doesn't know Emily Byrne, but something about her has him wanting to throw all his years of special training to the wind and run straight into danger with her.

She pulls ahead of him, long legs carrying her forward with ease. He lets her have the lead for a couple of minutes before he puts on his own burst of speed. He can feel her determination to finish first even though it isn't a race, has already caught the competitive desire in her eyes, but he doesn't let her have the win. He accepts the unspoken challenge in the upturned corner of her mouth, and runs hard beside her throughout that final lap.

They're both panting as they bound across the finish line, times being recorded by the bookkeeper on the sidelines table.

"You're fast," he breathes, slowing his pace beside her while they walk to the bench littered with personal belongings near the fence. "I'm Nick, by the way. Durand."

"I know." She grins, wiping the sweat from her eyes. "You're not so bad either, Nick Durand. But you've still got an entire course to finish."

She grabs her bottle of water and begins to stride away from him.

"Hey." She doesn't stop, but turns around, arches her brow as she strolls backwards. "I'll - uh, see you around then?"

Oh god, he's become a flustered teenage boy.

Emily shrugs, but her smile is bright, brilliant without even trying.

"Maybe." She pivots on her heel, disappears towards the showers. Nick takes a deep breath and returns to the course that awaits him, but he doesn't stop thinking about Emily Byrne for the rest of the day.

* * *

They don't have any educational courses together. He learns that she's two years younger than him and he's already surpassed her in most of the training thus far due to extra time in the Alexandria PD. But he's secretly delighted when she enters his physical combat class later that same week.

The FBI has no bias towards genders, no 'girls versus boys' segregations, so when their group is paired off to practice hand to hand combat techniques in pairs, Nick gravitates towards her without a second thought.

"You sure?" she smirks as he approaches. Her hands are wrapped and he can see stains of red faded into the cloth. He's both impressed and mildly intimidated.

"I prefer to train with the best," he answers, watching her assess him slowly. She doesn't accept the words as a compliment, but instead, as another challenge. It makes him like her more.

Emily nods and they fall into the correct stance, wait for the trainer to give the signal. The second their instructor says the word, she wastes no time knocking him on his ass, swiping the breath from his lungs with the swift sweep of her foot to his legs. But he doesn't stay down.

Nick tackles her in his attempt to rise, flips her onto her back. She grunts while he pins her to the mat, but she's not giving in. Not even close. He barely knows her, but he's already certain that defeat is not in this woman's nature.

Her legs twist with his, forcing him to his stomach with a loud slap. She grabs his wrist before he can absorb the impact, secures them at his spine in a standard arrest procedure move, and digs her knee into the small of his back.

"Step it up, Durand," their instructor calls. "Well done, Byrne."

Emily pats his shoulder before she releases his wrists.

"I'd prefer to train with the best too, you know."

He huffs, turns to face her and tries not to soften under that damn smirk. "We're just getting started."

He manages to pin her long enough for a point in the next round, but she shatters what little confidence he's managed to regain by the end of the class.

Emily slaps his wrist to the mat over his head for a third time, hovering above him with that infuriating grin. Strands of hair are slipping from her ponytail, her body heaving and skin glistening. His chest stutters with the skip of his heartbeat.

"You're not a bad opponent," she murmurs, releasing his wrists, but taking her time in moving off of him. "But you're better than that."

She pushes a palm to his chest to find her footing, chuckling at his grunt while she stands. He sighs as he follows her lead. He knows that she's right; he's usually patient, calculated, but today, he rushed, fumbled. He let himself fall victim to the distraction of Emily Byrne.

"I'll prove it to you next time," he promises, straightening his shoulders, lifting his chin. He can be a worthy opponent, worthy of her.

Emily hums. "Until next time then, Durand."

She leaves him standing alone in the middle of the mats where they spared. He wants to jog after her, suggest they grab dinner together tonight or meet for coffee tomorrow morning. But something inside whispers for him to wait. To be worthy of her first.

* * *

Next time turns into every time they share a class, it becomes mornings through grueling training courses and nights after class in the FBI academy's expansive gym. It becomes Nick's favorite thing to look forward to - spending his evenings fighting with Emily on the mat until they're both shaking and breathless.

He quickly proves that he is worthy of being her sparring partner and evens out the score between them within a matter of days, shows her what he's capable of. She never lets him know if she's impressed by his abilities or not, even when he has her lying trapped beneath the weight of him, every piece of their bodies aligned. The most she'll allow is the split second drift of her eyes to his mouth before she's nudging him off of her.

Tonight, though, once he finally wrestles her to the ground, pins her on his fourth try - after she's already taken him down twice in the past hour - he's not so quick to obey the familiar tap of her knee against his thigh.

"Let me take you out for dinner tomorrow."

He swears he feels her breathing hitch beneath him while he watches her lips part with a hint of surprise.

He doesn't think he's ever seen her taken off guard before.

"Like a date?" she inquires, attempting to regain the upper hand with the playful rise of her brow, teasing him. But her eyes are still flickering with that flare of bewilderment he caused.

"You want it to be a date?" he tosses back, mimicking the quirk of her eyebrow.

Emily bites her lip and slips her wrists from beneath the loose grip of his hands.

"I'll go to dinner with you," she murmurs, feathering her fingertips along the backs of his arms. It's the first time she's touched him with any form of tenderness, with anything other than the intention to overpower him. His triceps flutter beneath her fingers and she smiles. "Kinda feels like we've had enough dates, though."

An incredulous chuckle sneaks past his lips.

"Beating me up is your idea of a date?"

"Always a good time," she shrugs, fingers traveling higher until she's able to cup his shoulders in her palms.

Nick eases down onto one of his elbows, consciously keeping his body from sinking into the all too tempting embrace of hers below. He draws his opposite hand closer to her head, grazes his fingers through the dark waves of hair that have escaped the braid she wore to train today. Her knees tighten at his thighs.

He doesn't expect her spine to arch, for Emily to flip them over so that her body falls into what has become its usual straddle over his.

But no, he's not willing to let her dominate the conversation too. Nick rolls into a sitting position after her, grinning as she's forced to grip his shoulders to avoid falling out of his lap, settling snugly into it instead.

Emily's gaze falls to his lips, remains there while the pale skin of her throat ripples with a swallow.

"I'll go to dinner with you," she repeats, but her eyes fail to rise.

Her fingers dig into his shoulders instead, the pressure slight but demanding. He leans forward at the touch, inhales the sweet scent of vanilla and spice that he's only ever managed fleeting breaths of before. But this… the change in proximity, the heat of her body and the smell of her skin, is intoxicating, overwhelming.

Her knees squeeze again at his hips and her forehead brushes his in a tentative kiss. Everything about this encounter so tentative, so careful. For someone so confident in the field, in the gym with him, she's surprisingly timid, uncertain even, when he's in her personal space like this.

He doesn't mind, intrigued by this gentler side to her that he never would have thought existed.

Though, it doesn't last very long.

Emily tilts her chin, their noses bumping in prelude to the first touch of her lips to his mouth. A soft sigh escapes her to flutter between them, as if she's been waiting for this as long as he has.

Her hands ascend to his neck, fingertips dusting along his pulse, causing it to accelerate, before they rise to his jaw. Nick's lips part and she takes advantage of his bottom lip, sucking it into the heat of her mouth, stroking hard with her tongue.

He moans, splays his hands at her back, and relishes the play of muscles beneath his palms. Emily hums in response, presses deeper into the cove of his body. Her teeth nip at his lip, shooting fierce sparks of electricity down the line of his sternum like a defibrillator to his heart.

"Emily," he whispers in hopes of suppressing a groan, feeling her chest push into his with the struggle she faces to inhale an even breath.

But she doesn't stop, showing no mercy as she sinks her fingers into his hair, drapes her mouth over his. Nick gasps, fists his hands in the back of her tank top, fingers snagging in her sports bra.

He lets her kiss him deep, returns every delving plunge of her tongue and caress of her lips with his own. He arches into the cup of her hands at his cheeks, the bow of her body over his, like he's coming up for air.

Her hips rock, so perfect and devastating into his, the wave to drag him under.

He gasps, tears away from her mouth to bury his face in her throat. He can feel her heart pounding, the beat of it throbbing in time with his.

Nick brushes a kiss to the skin beneath her jaw, elicits a rippling shiver beneath his lips.

"You're gonna kill me," he rasps, feeling more than hearing the exhale of her laughter. Her hands slip from his hair to lace her arms around his neck.

She drops her forehead to his shoulder, sucking the air from his skin before she seals a kiss there. So sweet, unexpected, that he unfurls his hands at her back to return her embrace. Her body sinks deeper into his as they catch their breath.

"You're not too bad at this either," she murmurs, lips spreading into a grin against his collarbone.

His mouth can't help but echo the smile and he presses it to her cheek before he migrates his lips to the shell of her ear.

"Just getting started, Byrne," he reminders her.

* * *

He falls in love with her. Hard and fast and with a breath stealing kind of intensity.

They share dinners at night after they train, meet in parks and coffee shops on the days that they don't. They run together in the mornings, every day at dawn until he eventually convinces her to ease up on the brutality of her workout regimen.

"You can't take down killers if you kill yourself first, Em," he points out one evening, bracing the sharp bones of her hips against his palms. Every night, he walks her to her dorm building, lingering outside the entrance with her until he's forced to pull himself away and venture across campus to his own dorm. "Do something else with me tomorrow morning instead."

Her brow rises. "What'd you have in mind?"

They're more than halfway through the rigorous five month training program, he only has so much time left with her. He wants it to be memorable, memorable enough for her to still want this, want him, even after she becomes a certified agent.

"We have the weekend off," he states, leaning her into the tree at her back. The base in Quantico is located on a beautiful stretch of land, decorated with miles of foliage and trees. It serves well in nights they stay out past curfew, hiding behind bark and bushes, risking reprimand.

Emily nods, bridges her fingers at his nape. "We do."

"Let's go on a roadtrip."

Her lips quirk. "A roadtrip?"

"Just to DC," he murmurs, releasing her hips to wrap his arms around her waist. "It's not a long drive. We can leave in the morning, drive back Sunday."

Emily leans back into the bark of the tree, the band of his arms. She looks beautiful in the moonlight, staring up at him with the dark waves of hair framing her face, the gold sparks in her eyes. It's how he knows she'll say yes.

She chews on her bottom lip in a brief debate before arching on her toes, pressing her smile to his mouth. "I want to leave tonight."

He doesn't argue.

Nick abandons her at the dorms to pack, rendezvouses with her in the parking lot fifteen minutes later, and then they're slipping into his car and onto the highway.

It's the most relaxed he's ever seen her, singing along to the radio in the car in the middle of the night. The drive is only an hour long, but she has him grinning the entire time, humming along with her to silly pop songs.

He books two hotel rooms despite the roll of her eyes, kisses her goodnight at her door before entering the room across from it. In the morning, he meets her downstairs for breakfast and smiles at the picture of her hair in soft curls, the black liner and mascara framing her eyes, her body wrapped in a sweater and jeans. He rarely gets to see her with much makeup, wearing anything other than an FBI turtleneck or her exercise gear.

Emily twines her hand through his while they walk through the city, playing tourists in the nation's capitol. He's been here a million times, seen all of the monuments and tribunes, and something tells him that Emily has as well. But she strolls along his side with their fingers locked in a loose embrace throughout the entire day, looking as if she's witnessing the statues and museums in all of their glory for the first time.

When the sun sets and night falls, after they have dinner in a lovely restaurant in Georgetown that overlooks the water, he drives them back to the hotel and kisses her goodnight at her door. But tonight is different, he can feel it in her reluctance to let him leave her lips.

"Nick."

She catches his wrist in the hall and glances up to meet his eyes. He sways into her helplessly, pulled to her like a magnet from the day he met her, until their forehead bump and her lips are an inch away.

"Stay." It's not a demand, not a question either, just a hope infused syllable in the exhale of her breath between them.

Nick nods, flexes his fingers to fit between hers once more, where they belong, and follows her into the small hotel room, follows her to the bed. Emily nudges him towards the edge of the mattress ahead of her, her hands fitting to curve along his shoulders as he takes a seat.

She plants one knee into the bed beside his thigh, drifts into his body with an effortless fluidity. Nick cradles her hips in his palms, steadies her as she eases into a straddle over his lap. His lungs falter the moment she sinks down, so intimately aligned with him, a perfect pressure that takes his breath all too soon.

He may not survive this, not if she's already seizing him of air so soon.

Emily brushes her knuckles to his cheek, the touch causing him to realize how he's let his eyes fall shut. She dusts her lips to his eyelids before he can open them, whispers silent promises along his cheekbone, down to his jaw. He trails his fingers along the edge of her sweater, grazes the bare skin above her jeans, up the ladder of her spine.

But it's Emily to lean back just enough to snag the hem of fabric with her fingers, drag it up the length of her body. The pretty olive material goes over her head and onto the floor, but he doesn't mourn it long. Not when he has the bared altar of her upper body to worship.

He kisses the rounded edge of her shoulder first, traveling down the sharp ridge of her collarbone, the gorgeous valley between her breasts and the black lace of her bra. Emily clutches at the collar of his shirt, her cheek pressing against his temple as she gasps.

Her hips roll into the embrace of his and he crushes her tighter against him, scraping his teeth at the swell of her breast. Emily whimpers into his hair, fists her fingers in the back of his sweater, and yanks. He helps her tug it over his head before she can wipe his mind clean with the building rhythm of her lower body colliding desperately with his.

His sweater joins her on the floor and his fingers hook in the clasp of her bra. She releases him to drag the lace down her arms, replacing the lingerie with the press of his body wrapping around her. Nick groans at the naked seal of her breasts, the kiss of her ribs and graze of her abdomen, the searing heat of her skin on his.

"Emily," he breathes, coasting his hands up her sides, watching her skin shiver beneath his fingertips.

She takes one from her ribcage, draws his hand up to her lips, and presses a kiss to his knuckles.

"I'm glad this is the beginning," she mumbles, mouth migrating to the inside of his wrist, feathering over the intensifying beat of his pulse. "Don't want this to end."

He unfurls his fingers to catch hers, reclaim their place between the spaces of hers, and guide their clasped hands to his lips this time. He's not a man of many words, he prefers actions, prefers to speak with deft hands on a gun and quick work in the field, but she makes all of the pretty promises crowd at the tip of his tongue, push at the seam of his mouth.

"It's not," he answers, kissing the back of her hand, dragging his lips over the river of her veins, before lowering their hands to his chest. "Not with you."

She kisses him again, a gentle drape of her mouth over his like a promise of her own. He lets her linger, savoring the warmth of her breath coating his lips, the soft pressure, and doesn't stop her when she presses him down to the bed. Their hands remained matched, fingers laced and palms kissing, as she raises them above his head to rest on a pillow, and follows the length of his arm with her mouth.

Every muscle quivers beneath the alternating caress of her lips, stroke of her tongue, and nip of her teeth, his hips jerking harder into hers with every touch. The brush of a kiss to the middle of his chest, above his heart, is all he can take before he weaves his fingers through her hair and drags her back to his mouth.

But he doesn't let go of her hand. Even when their bodies twine and come together as well, he keeps the connection of her fingers locked in his as he loves her.

* * *

Emily keeps him awake until the spill of sunrise spreads light through the nation's capital, trading laughter and moans throughout the night until neither of them can remain coherent any longer.

He doesn't curl around her like he wants to once she finally succumbs to sleep mere minutes before he does. She's so fiercely independent, a beautiful contradiction of steel and softness. He doesn't take her for the type to seek out post sex cuddles. So he lies beside her, traipsing tips of his fingers down the path of her skin and watching the rise and fall of her breathing until it lulls him to sleep

Even then, a part of him knew that no matter how tightly he held her, he could never make her stay. Not unless she chose to stay herself.

But when he wakes later that morning, she's coiled at his back, every piece of her body slotted into his. Holding onto him.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Let's go out in flames so everyone knows who we are_  
 _Cause these city walls never knew that we'd make it this far_  
 _We've become echoes, but echoes that faded away_  
 _So let's dance like two shadows burning out our glory days"_

* * *

It was always Nick and his father and they always remained in Virginia, his path to DC, to becoming an FBI agent, clear and unquestionable. But when he and Emily graduate from the academy and she's assigned to her choice of the Boston office, he requests the same.

He would have followed her anywhere.

"Nick, your family's here. Your dad-"

"Has never needed me around," he assures her the night before their flight to Boston. They moved out of the academy dorms last week and have been staying at an airport hotel in DC for the past few days. "And as long as I'm in the FBI, following in his footsteps, that's all that matters."

"I'm sure he's proud," she murmurs, leaning past the knees she has curled into her chest to comb her fingers through his hair.

"I'm sure." He loves his father, he does, but the man has been absent from his life for so long now, that Nick forgot what it was like to care about his dad's approval.

He hums in contentment as she continues the stroke of her fingers along his scalp.

"My dad'll like you," she adds, fingers trickling down to scratch along his jaw. "My brother."

He cups the back of her hand, turns his face into the cove of her palm to press a kiss to the heartlines running through her flesh. She told him all about her adoptive family not long after they slept together, opening up to him like a flower in bloom, giving him her body and all of her secrets like petals stripped away to leave her bare.

He learns where her drive came from, how it existed even before she gained the love of a mother and father she lacked throughout the beginnings of her childhood within an orphanage, how the presence of a family caused her to work even harder.

"I felt like I needed to deserve it, to earn it," she whispered to him one night, pressing her words into his skin as if she could bury them there. "Like I needed to do everything I could not to lose it."

Psychologically, it made sense, but the idea of her as a little girl, striving to be worthy of a love every child should have, made his heart clench.

He wrapped his arm a little tighter around her and drew her deeper into his side, sealed his lips to her forehead.

"You always deserved it."

"Do I deserve you?" He felt her smile against his chin.

His answer was easy, but solemn, serious. "You deserve the best."

Her fingers curled at his chin, coaxed his lips back to hers.

"Nothing better than you, Nick."

She brushes her thumb to his bottom lip.

"You're family," he admits, kissing her thumb and cradling her wrist. She doesn't respond, but curls in closer to him, nuzzling her face into the cove of his neck. "I want to be with you."

Emily sighs, the heat of her breath warming his adam's apple. He wonders if she's grown to feel the same way about him as she did about her family, if she's too scared of losing him to love him completely. They have fun together, he makes her happy, and the sex is phenomenal, but is it enough?

"I want you with me too."

He rests his cheek to the top of her head. It has to be.

* * *

She dominates the Boston field office. He's aware that women can sometimes have a harder time establishing their place in law enforcement, that testosterone and the male ego often reign, but not for Emily. She has no patience for that and she makes it clear the second they're brought on board.

Having him at her side, a partner and defender both, doesn't hurt.

Their unit chief, Adam Radford, takes a liking to the two of them, has no qualms about letting them stick together. Nick's grateful for it. He doesn't think he would trust anyone to watch her back the way he can, the way she watches his.

For another three years, they continue to work side by side. He becomes part of her family, earning her father's approval and her brother's tentative friendship. They create a family of their own within the FBI, finding quick friendship in fellow agents, bonding over the harrowing aspects of the job and its small victories. He's happy, so genuinely happy, but still, he wants more. Wants everything with her.

He buys a ring, simple but stunning, something she could wear all the time. He keeps it in his coat pocket on a daily basis for too many months, waiting for the right moment, needing it to be right.

"Want to go to Marcelli's tonight for dinner?" Nick asks during the drive to a previous crime scene.

They're closing in on a serial killer that favors younger victims and it's been a tough week for the entire team, but Emily seems especially wrecked by the trail of dead children they've had to follow to find their guy.

She hums, noncommittally and not completely listening to him. He extracts one hand from the steering wheel and reaches across the console to place a palm on her knee, thankful when her fingers fall to drape over his.

"Marcelli's sounds fine, babe," she murmurs, circling her thumb slowly over one of his knuckles.

"We're going to get him, Em," he promises her, flipping his palm up atop her knee and catching her fingers. "He'll pay for what he did."

"It won't bring those kids back." She continues to stare out the window, her fingers limp in his grasp. "It won't ease the pain their parents are feeling."

He squeezes her hand. "No, but it can give them closure. It's all we can give them."

Emily finally tears her eyes from the buildings flying by outside and directs her gaze to their hands, curling her fingers around his.

"I wish that were enough."

The sweep they're doing of the old crime scene is just procedure, he doesn't expect to uncover anything tonight and part of him wants to call it a day, take Emily home and hold her until the haunted look leaves her eyes. But they're already pulling onto the street of the apartment complex.

Emily goes in first and he follows, bypassing the elevators to trot up the stairs with her because he knows it's how she kills the nervous energy thrumming through her veins. But when they reach the third floor, she stops at the top step, freezes.

"Emily?"

She lifts her hand, but he climbs the last few steps to be at her side, see what she sees.

"Gun!"

It all happens so fast. She spins, shoves him into the wall of the stairwell seconds before she's thrust backwards. Her body crumbles against the opposite wall, the gun clattering from her hand. He doesn't think, he leaps to his feet, rounds the corner with his weapon already drawn. He shoots without hesitation.

The suspect falls. Nick turns back to Emily.

"Emily," he whispers, dropping to his knees in front of her. She has a hand pressed to her shoulder, blood leaching out between her fingers, but he's more concerned by the way she's clutching her stomach. "Did the bullet - your stomach, is it-"

"No," she groans, dropping her head back against the wall. "Went through my shoulder."

He fumbles for his cellphone, begins to dial for an ambulance, and covers the hand at her shoulder with the seal of his palm. Emily whimpers, bites her lip so hard it blanches white.

"Did you hit the wall too hard?" He presses the phone to his ear, waits while it rings. "Rupture something? Your appendix, kidney-"

"No, Nick," she rasps, trying to curl her knees to her chest. Her hand is slipping out from underneath his, so he wedges the phone between his shoulder and his ear, applies pressure to her wound with both hands. She yelps, squirms for a moment, before she visibly forces herself to settle, fights the fluttering roll of her eyes into her head. "I'm - I think I might be pregnant."

The line connects, but the phone falls to the floor.

* * *

She has to stay overnight in the hospital. He sleeps in the chair beside her bed, waking every hour to the nurse who comes in to check on Emily and glare at him for using his badge to bypass protocol and remain in the room with her.

"Nick?"

He blinks awake, startles forward at the realization that it's Emily calling for him. She looks like she's been awake for a while, her eyes clear despite the dark stains of purple underneath, the pale color and waxy quality to her skin.

"Hey," he murmurs, rubbing at his eyes and sitting forward. Her fingers twitch on the edge of the bed and he reaches to reclaim her hand, still pink with the stain of blood that won't completely wash off. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I was shot." He huffs and the corner of her mouth twitches. "Is he dead?"

Nick squeezes her hand. "Yeah."

"Did..." She purses her lips, glances down to the hand splayed over her stomach. "Did the doctor say anything about-"

"You're six weeks along," he confirms, watching for her reaction, waiting. But she seems to be doing the same. "Em?"

"I wasn't sure, I was just... late. But after this case, I wanted to take a test, tell you," she explains, hooking her thumb around his. "I know we never really talked about kids, about... a future-"

"I've always wanted a future with you," he interrupts, swallowing hard and digging into his coat pocket. It isn't how he would have planned it, but it feels right. "I want this baby with you. I want - I want forever with you, Emily."

Nick draws the jewelry box from his pocket with fingers that threaten to shake, flips the lid with his thumb, and holds it up between them. Her eyes flare gold with surprise.

"I've been waiting for the right moment to ask you for a while now," he chuckles, maneuvering the ring from the box. His hand remains steady, so does his voice; he feels more sure of this decision, these words, than he ever has before. "Because I love you. I've always loved you."

"Nick," she whispers, tightening her fingers around his, guiding their laced hands to her chest. Her heart pounds beneath his wrist.

"Marry me," he murmurs, stroking his thumb over the fourth finger of her left hand.

The smile trembles across her lips and she nods. "Yeah. I'll marry you."

His own smile slices into his cheeks, cracks through him after the last few hours of letting the frown lines take over. Nick leans past the railing of the hospital bed to seal his mouth to hers, easing his hand free of her grasp to wipe the tears from her cheeks.

"Making you cry, Byrne?" he chuckles, dusting a kiss to the damp corner of her eye.

"Just the morphine," she sighs, reaching up with her good arm to caress his jaw. "Now put the ring on my finger."

* * *

She has to wear a sling, hang back in the field, but her shoulder begins to heal without issue and she starts shopping for white dresses. She's assured him that she has no qualms about having a baby before marriage, but she doesn't want to wait so long to marry him.

"We've been together for over three years now, Nick," she murmurs, from their bed. They've been living in a cozy two bedroom apartment in downtown Boston for those three years, but he's been searching the homes in suburbia lately, seeking the perfect place to settle down with his wife, their baby.

He can't believe he's going to be a dad, that Emily's going to be a mom. That they're actually doing this.

"I don't want to wait anymore."

He spits out his toothpaste, drops his toothbrush in the holder next to hers. "You just tell me when and where."

"I just want a small ceremony. You, me, the family," she elaborates, brushing her thumb along the band of her engagement ring and studying her stomach when he turns around. It's still flat, no evidence of her pregnancy noticeable yet. "Before I start to show."

"Are we keeping this our secret then?" he inquires, strolling across their bedroom to climb in next to her.

"Not a secret, just... once everyone knows, it's - real." His brow furrows, but she sighs, already searching for an explanation. "I just never had a mom growing up, not until I was adopted. And she was great, a perfect mother, but what if... what if I'm not, Nick? What if I'm terrible and the baby hates me?"

He shakes his head. "Emily."

"I'm serious," she huffs, catching his hand before he can lift it to her face. She redirects its path to land on the plain of her abdomen. "I want to be good enough for you, for this baby-"

"What are you talking about?" He settles in close beside her, propped up on an elbow, and splays his hand out beneath hers atop her stomach. "I'm not saying being parents will be easy, it'll take work, but Emily, you don't - you don't have to try so hard. We're a team, in this together."

She purses her lips, so unsure of herself in a way he will never completely understand. She has the confidence of a warrior when she's at the FBI office, when she's wearing a bullet proof vest, but here in the dim light of their bedroom, she's soft and unstable with insecurity.

He leans down, brushes his lips over the line of hers.

"I know you," he whispers, bumping his nose against hers. "I love you. This baby will love you."

Emily laces her arm below his shoulder blades, as high as she can lift it right now. "I hope you're right."

"I know I'm right," he murmurs, kissing her mouth when she tilts her chin, parts her lips for him. "Let me show you how sure I am."

She grins, snags his upper lip with her teeth before he abandons her mouth for her jaw, her throat, going lower until she gasps.

* * *

Their wedding is short notice and small, but perfect. Her dad walks her down the aisle, she wears a beautiful gown, and when he promises her forever and kisses her after the 'I do's, he means it, believes it.

They honeymoon on a beach in Aruba for a week and she returns to Boston with golden skin and streaks of sunlight still twined through her hair. She begins to show a few weeks after, the small swell of her stomach quickly catching Adam's attention. She hates the idea of desk duty, especially after finally having her shoulder heal and allow her return to the field, but she takes the order without argument.

Emily was right, they never talked about kids, about having a family together; they never even talked about marriage. It was just something he knew was inevitable with her if she said yes, that his life with her would fall into place the way it was supposed to, no thought required.

He never thought about her as a mother, but he thinks about it now. Every time he watches her take a seat at her desk without complaint, every time he sees her trailing a gentle hand over her stomach, talking to the baby when she thinks he's not around. She already loves their child so much, is so fiercely protect of the little life growing inside her; he thinks he falls in love with her all over again in those nine months.

"I hope it's a boy." It's a Saturday and they're both off from work, driving to a secret location he refuses to tell her about. She's nearly seven months into the pregnancy and they're about to outgrow their Boston apartment.

"Yeah? Not a girl?" he asks, sparing a glimpse from the road to watch her cradle her belly.

She hums. "I'd love her just the same, but still hoping it's a boy. I hope he looks like you, has those beautiful blue eyes."

Her hand ascends from her stomach to brush along the back of his neck, combing through the fine hairs at the base of his scalp. He grins, feels the warmth blooming along his throat.

"Way more beautiful if he looked like you," he murmurs, stealing her hand to press a kiss to her fingers. They're almost there, just another mile of gorgeous trees and winding road...

"Rich neighborhood," she comments, slipping her hand from his to draw it back to her stomach. Her eyes are staring out the window, assessing the large houses engulfed in the privacy of woods and picket fences. Backyards and swimming pools, endless space for children to run free and safe.

Nick spies their destination, checking the address on the mailbox to be sure, and pulls into the driveway.

"Is this another house we're looking at?" she asks with a quirk of her brow. They've had the apartment prepared and baby ready just in case, but they've been seeing places on and off for the past few months. Thus far, no house has lived up to either of their standards, and this one isn't necessarily in their budget, but...

"If you like what's inside, it's ours." He puts the car in park, meets her wide eyes across the console. "I knew the price would turn you off, but I did a quick walkthrough of it last week and it's... it's got everything we want and more, Em. I worked out a deal with the realtor, got the price lowered. He's just waiting for me to sign."

She glances back to the magnificent two story house standing tall in front of them, the massive expanse of property that surrounds it, the impressive security system inside that she doesn't know about - a home fit for a family.

"You can always say no, but-"

"If I say yes?" she murmurs, rubbing her stomach and shifting to face him once more.

"Then it's ours."

She bites her bottom lip and leans forward, brushes an unexpected kiss to his mouth that has his chest exalting in relief. "Usually I would kill you for doing this without me."

They sign the deal within the next hour.

* * *

Flynn is perfect. He has Nick's eyes, Emily's dark hair, and Nick wants to live in the moment he's able to witness his wife holding their son in her arms for the first time.

"Have you ever loved something so much so fast?" she asks him, her smile so brilliant even as her eyes shine with tears. She's made room for Nick to squeeze into the bed beside her and Flynn is swaddled in the crook of her arm, quieted and gazing up at them.

"Not like this," he whispers, stroking his fingertip down their son's soft cheek. "He's so..."

"Perfect," she rasps, dusting her finger to his chin. "Oh, he's so perfect, Nick."

He glances up from the gorgeous sight of their son, watching his wife tend to him as the baby begins to wiggle and fuss.

"I know, sweetheart," she cooes, adjusting him in her arms. "Shh, I know."

And in that moment, he knows there will never be anything more beautiful than the way Emily loves their son.


	3. Chapter 3

_"The devil's on your shoulder_  
 _Strangers in your head_  
 _As if you don't remember_  
 _As if you can forget_  
 _It's only been a moment_  
 _It's only been a lifetime_  
 _But tonight you're a stranger or some silhouette"_

* * *

Three years fly by so quickly, he wants to go back, find a way to slow them. He would give anything to deter the passage of time, stop it altogether. Pause everything, remain in limbo with Emily, Flynn, and the puppy he surprised them with just a couple of months ago. He would give anything to have his life back, to stay there.

He wants to go back to the life he had before she was violently ripped out of it.

Instead, he's left alone. His wife taken, presumed dead, and their three year old constantly asking for mommy.

He refuses to stop looking for her, acquiring Warren's help in taking care of Flynn while he spends countless hours at the office.

"Do whatever you need to do to find my daughter," the older man tells him each day that he drops Flynn off at his grandfather's home. "Just find her."

He tries. Every single day and night for a year, he tries. Even after Conrad Harlow is convicted for her murder.

He searches for her until he just can't anymore. Until the wound of losing her becomes so infected and raw, spreading through his bloodstream like sepsis, that he has to stop, tend to it before it kills him. He doesn't _want_ to live without her, but she would kill him if he cursed Flynn with the same fate that she had as a child, if he left Flynn as an orphan.

So he stops. He puts her case in a box at the office, puts her in a box in the darkest corner of his mind, and dedicates all he has into raising their son. Her father despises him for it, her brother grants him with silent disapproval, and without Emily to light the way, Nick sinks into the darkness.

Within the following year, he meets Alice.

She's pretty and sweet, graceful, elicits a pleasant warmth through his blood as time goes on. He doesn't know how to love past the guilt that remains like a sentinel guarding his heart, doesn't know if he wants to, but Flynn takes to her quickly, benefits from having such a positive female presence in his life. So he tries.

He forces himself to accept that the fire he felt with Emily was a once in a lifetime experience, that no one else will ever live up to the beauty of burning with her; he wouldn't want it with anyone else. The flames died with her. So did a piece of him.

He learns to live in the shell of who he was, begins to accept that happiness doesn't always come in the form of wild passion, but can be quiet too. He learns to settle, to do what is best for his son, because it's the one thing he knows without question that Emily would have wanted - for Flynn to be happy.

Flynn is all that matters now.

It's not completely fair to Alice, who loves both him and Flynn so full and completely, who gives so much when he gives so little. But as the months pass, the years, he loves her back almost as much, loves her with what he has left - in that quiet, tender way. It's enough for her, for the little family they've become. It has to be.

* * *

Of course, he's imagined what it would be like if Emily ever made a miraculous return. It was _all_ he thought about in those first few months, the first year she was gone. But as time passes and hope withers, he realizes that a daydream is all it will ever be.

Until it isn't.

When he pulls her body from that tank of water and she takes her first breath, he feels like he's diving in.

Neither one of them is who they were six years ago. They've both been broken down and stripped bare in different ways, souls scooped out, leaving them hollow.

Six years. She's been gone, taken away from him and their son, believed to be dead. He let himself believe she was dead, taught Flynn to trust in the same horrible lie, mourn the mother he never got to know.

He never truly mourned his wife, not like he should have. He locked her away in the back of his mind, locked all the hurt away with her, and pretended he moved on. He married someone else, allowed another woman to raise his son, and part of him _was_ happy.

But it's been six years, and he still thinks of Emily Byrne as his wife. He's missed his wife.

And now he has to turn her into the police for a crime he could never fathom her taking part in.

It's breaking her all over again, the lack of trust from those who should be defending her, believing in her. Not crucifying her. He's seen her on the shuddering edge of panic attacks since her return, seen the way her eyes go dark and fill with the horror she can't escape despite being rescued. He can't stand it anymore, can't stand to watch while she treads water alone.

When he cradles her trembling hands in his, secures them tight in his grasp to anchor her in the middle of her hotel room, he doesn't want to let go. He wants to be closer, to hold every broken part of her until they can meld together again.

He wants to go back in time, when he could love her so freely. It stops him from thinking clearly, from thinking at all, and instead, encourages him to take what he wants, what they both need.

Kissing her again for the first time in so long is like fresh oxygen being pumped through his tired lungs. The tears on her cheeks dry and her lips part for him, welcome him home.

Her body has changed. He's startled by the raised flesh he encounters beneath his fingertips, the long strips of scars on her back, the evidence of what she's been through. How she was being tortured while he was living a new life without her.

He whispers apologies to every marred line of flesh, memorizes the location of every scar she's acquired. He forgets about everything else, who they are now, what they've become. Tonight, he leaves his life at the foot of the hotel bed and buries himself inside of her with long strokes and smooth thrusts. He loses himself in the sounds of her moans, the noises of pleasure he once knew by heart, the scent of her skin and the way it burns so good with every brush against his. The familiar fit of his hand in hers.

Afterwards, he curls his body around hers, twines their limbs. He's the opposite of clingy after sex and she is too, but he doesn't want to let her go this time. She doesn't seem to mind, tracing the possessive band of his arm at her waist with the tips of her fingers, grazing fleeting kisses to the column of his throat. They don't sleep, they don't have the luxury of that, but he drifts with her, gets drunk on the drug of her company, the naked seal of her body to his.

"I don't want to go," she whispers into the silence.

He lifts a hand to her face, cups her cheek. She turns her head to brush her lips to the heel of his palm.

He stains his words along the scar slashed into her forehead. "I don't want you to either."

He's eventually forced to leave her for the bathroom, washing his face once he's done, splashing cold water like a jolt of reality to his senses. He should feel guilty, he should feel overcome with it. He should be rallying for his resolve, for the dedication to his job. He should be thinking about Alice, his _son_ , the consequences of his actions. But all he can think about is having her again. Running away with Emily, doing everything he shouldn't, all for her.

When he emerges from the bathroom, though, the mere idea of that choice is washed away.

"Emily?"

But the hotel room is empty, the air still with her absence. She's gone.

It feels as if he's lost her all over again.


End file.
